


you know all the things that come in two

by EasyPeasyPanic



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, And Izuna is a A+ big brother mosty, Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Bonding, Child Death, Gen, He's got his issues, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Itama is a little kid, Izuna is adopting Itama, M/M, Multi, Why yes Itama is a sweetheart, he cries sometimes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:54:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22248982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EasyPeasyPanic/pseuds/EasyPeasyPanic
Summary: Because when someone dies, they can become attached to the last object or place they saw before their death, Izuna has become stuck as a spirit in the world of the living. Angry by his brother's betrayal and without sight, his only companion comes in the form of a dead child.___Or how Itama and Izuna try to figure out how to pass over to the otherside, become family in the process, and try to watch over their remaining brothers
Relationships: Senju Itama & Uchiha Izuna, Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara
Comments: 21
Kudos: 215





	1. lost in the bright dark

* * *

For a time, all he can hear is Aniki and his sobbing. He knows it, well, at the very least he knows the voice murmuring through his crying, but it surprises Izuna all the same. His brother hadn't cried so heavily when they'd lost their other brothers, so why now?

A part of Izuna wanted to cry out in the darkness,  _ brother, brother, be quiet! We should have waited on removing my eyes to see if I would live! We were too hasty! I'm alright, brother! _

But no matter what he says, no matter how he  _ tries _ , his brother never acknowledges him. It takes a while for him to understand that's because Madara can't see him. 

(They're finally  _ equals  _ now at something. Izuna can't see his brother either. Madara has his eyes, even in death, his body isn't complete--)

He's dead. Died. Struck down by his own hubris, his overconfidence and arrogance blinding him to the seal on that fucking kunai. Of course Madara would be right. He'd warned him over and over again about being more careful, being less cocky, being more attentive. You would think someone with eyes like his, the Sharingan, wouldn't need to be more attentive. Still he's dead now. 

He's dead, blindly wandering through his home, through the small Northern compound that they'd retreated to for the spring, and he stumbles his way through out. He can't touch any walls to figure out where he is, he can't  _ touch  _ anything at all. He can hear his brother sometimes, in clan meetings or with their cousin Hikaku. Once or twice, he figured out where Madara's room once because he heard his soft crying, and his  _ praying.  _ Izuna had never heard his brother pray before, and it feels wrong to be there listening in like a fly on the wall, but he also can't see anything to figure out how to avoid his room. It's like doors, walls, everything is meaningless. 

Sometimes, he can hear his cousin Sayuri attacking the training post, the familiar  _ thump  _ of kunai in wood and the smell of grass letting him know what's happening. He can hear her muttering. So if he goes all the way west, he can find the training clearing, a small patch that they'd set aside and guarded for the children to practice. He can hear Naori sometimes too, when he goes east about fifty six steps, but he doesn't think that's her room, maybe it was Rai's. She liked Rai, didn't she? Izuna can't remember exactly. 

He hears Old Lady Himari holler for her grandsons, smells the mochi that her husband Shisaku makes on the weekends. He hears little Yumi running, the sound of children's laughter. He hears a lot. He smells a lot of things, blood, sweat, oiled leather, different foods. Familiar voices weaving together. But he never knows  _ exactly  _ where he is. It would be easier if he could touch the damn walls. But apparently, he just walks through them or something. 

And so Time passes him by. Maybe not in days, maybe not in hours or weeks, but it passes him by, he's absolutely sure. No matter how he tries desperately to leave, to run through the darkness of foreign hallways that were once his home, he doesn't ever find familiarity in the corridors because he can't see them. 

There's no starting point to guide him. One moment he was in his big brother's room, dying, his body wracked with infection and fever, begging him to take his eyes. The next, he was standing up. Somewhere.

( _ Protect our clan and look to the future for me, okay, Aniki? It's alright, please take them. I won't...won't need them in death.) _

And that was miserably WRONG. Apparently even ghosts need their eyes, which was just his stupid luck, wasn't it? Stupid enough to get stabbed. Stupid enough to get an infection. Stupid enough to do  _ one  _ good thing and still get shit on in the end. Stupid, stupid stupid. 

So he spends tries to escape, taking different routes and stumbling through the dark that was his life, his empty eye sockets aching with a phantom pain. Get it?  _ Phantom.  _

_ Well Izuna thought it was funny.  _ But he's never managed to figure out how to leave this endless cycle. How do you stop being a ghost? Izuna remembers being promised a Pure Land if he died a shinobi's honorable death. The elders used to spout that out to him and the other younger shinobi  _ all the time.  _ But apparently not him. Which is just wonderful and great and cool. Really. It  _ was. _

Izuna groaned, loudly and without reserve. It wasn't like anyone could hear him, right?

"Just my fucking luck!"

**_____ **

This  _ cannot _ last forever.

It just  _ can't _ . Boredom boils in his blood, it makes him feel trapped in something and free to do nothing, and it never ends. Even the walls that he can't touch seem better talking companions than trying to shout at whoever he manages to find. 

And it's constant. Constant boredom. He can't contribute to conversations, can't crack jokes or drink with his former friends and clansmen. Can't seem to  _ ever  _ find his brother. He can't even follow his men off to battle. He tried once, when he heard someone putting their armor on, and he'd followed the noises of gathering steps and barked orders. Tried to follow, but  _ couldn't.  _ Ended up somehow, somewhere where Old Man Tomo was because he heard the familiar voice telling the kids a story. He can't leave the compound, apparently. 

Or sleep. Death doesn't sleep. Dead people don't either. 

And  _ Kami,  _ Izuna misses it the most. That was almost 75% of what he did every single day. Ask Madara, his big brother  _ loved  _ dragging him up by his hair or throwing cold water on him. Because Izuna spent his days sleeping, and even his big brother wasn't about to wake his ass up. Izuna misses the relief of it, of being able to escape into blackness and happy dreams of dead brothers. 

Memories aren't as vivid as dreams. Dreams are special, more intimate because they can change the unpleasantness of unchangeable things, even for a moment. He barely remembers his brothers, but he dreams of them often. Or what he hopes they were like. 

So Izuna spent his time wandering in circles, learning to navigate the blackness of whichever of the Hell he was confined in. He grows weary and tired, not physically, but emotionally the longer she goes. First, he was pissed. Then he was tired and  _ done  _ with the whole situation. Then he missed being able to talk to Madara. His feeling sort of becomes unhinged the longer he's away from a certain point, so much so that he gets hysterical and tearful, forcing him back to where he came from, so he tries greatly to avoid going too far. 

Izuna wanders around again, tired and exhausted by the whole  _ being dead thing.  _ It was enough to make him want to die again.

Still, it isn't entirely boring. Sometimes, when Madara speaks his name, he can feel a force compelling him closer. Like right now, something  _ draws _ him to the right, east, and he moves simply because he can. Because it feels right. Moves until he hears his name being called. 

Madara's praying again, maybe. 

"Please." Madara whispers, and Izuna tilts his head to listen closer. "Izuna, otouto, please forgive me. I have to--"

"Forgive  _ what _ ?" Izuna demands, curious. He still isn't heard. He didn't expect to be.

He hears a soft cry on Madara's lips, "You said to protect the clan. With your eyes, I need to protect them. And  _ this  _ is the only way I can. I have to-- to ensure a future for us. To see a future for us." Madara's voice lowers still. "I'm sorry to betray your wishes, but I have to make peace with them, the Senju. I have to. If you can hear me, in the Pure Land, please forgive me." 

_ No. No. Nononononono-- _

"No!" Izuna roars, fists clenching at his sides. "No! You can't do this-- he killed me! They killed our brothers. It's a trick! They'll get rid of our clan, little by little! Don't trust the Senju." 

"I'm so sorry, Izuna." Madara prays. "Please forgive me!" There's a thump, like maybe he's kneeling or maybe he's fallen. Did he bother putting up a shrine for Izuna? Was he kneeling to it?

Izuna  _ runs _ . He doesn't know where he's going. It doesn't matter anyway. He won't get to leave, or die or live. Just wait here. Just wait here forever and ever, while his brother buddies up with the fucking Senju ane--

The tears fall soon and the painful feeling of control leaves his body shaking. He stumbles forward, overwhelmed by the feeling of loss and pain and hatred and burning desire for  _ something. Desire, love, loss, hate, passion, remorse, fury-- _

Izuna  _ sobs _ , loudly. Clenches his fists. It isn't  _ fair.  _ It wasn't fair. He was supposed to be by his brother's side  _ always _ . He was supposed to slay Tobirama and win a victory for his clan. He was supposed to teach Hina-chan how to paint the stars using crushed marigolds, and he was supposed to flirt with that pretty Hagoromo girl when they met with the envoy. It wasn't  _ fair _ . It wasn't right--

A voice startles him, "Are you okay?"

_ No. No.  _ Izuna wants to say, but he knows nobody will hear him. He strains his ears, trying to figure out  _ who _ is in the room and who was talking to who. 

"Ghost-san? Are you okay?"

Izuna  _ jumps _ , furiously wiping at his face. "Me?" He whispers.  _ Stop crying. You're a tough guy. Stop it. Stop it! _

"Yes! Who else would I be talking to?"

"You can  _ see _ me?"

Holy Indra, by Kami, somebody can see him. Hear him. Oh thank you. Thank you, whoever. Whichever deity can hear him. Izuna scrubs at his face, wiping away the tears and composing himself quickly. 

"Yes! But your eyes are bleeding, Ghost-san." The voice informs him, and Izuna  _ pauses _ . He presses his fingertips together, frowning, because his tears didn't feel right. They were sticky, thick, and  _ warm _ . Warmer than they needed to be. 

Blood? Was he crying  _ blood _ ? 

"I--" Izuna laughs, shaking his head. "Holy Indra, I don't know why I'm crying blood." He shakes his head again and again. "Kami, I don't even know. I can't believe you can see me. I-- nobody ever sees me." 

"Me either." The voice says softly. Too softly and too childishly. Izuna leans closer to where it comes from. Was this a  _ kid _ ? Could a kid see him? Shit, did a kid just watch him sobbing? Crap, oh wonderful. Just his luck. "I can't be seen either. But I haven't seen another ghost in a long time."

It hits him like a punch to the face. 

"Are you…" Izuna frowns, wiping his sticky hands down on his  _ yukata _ ? It felt light and soft, like the yukatas he wore at home. "Are you dead?"

The voice hummed. "Yeah. I-- I've been really lonely since Ghost-chan left. She was another person I met. But she left a while ago. So it's just me." 

Izuna takes in a shaky breath.  _ In and out. In and out.  _ He was talking to a ghost. A spirit. And he was a ghost, too. A kid's ghost. 

"I'm Izuna." He says quietly. Because Ghost-san was too creepy. It was too much to be a spirit, to be talking to what sounds like a little kid. That meant the kid died. Was it disease? Was he a shinobi? A kid. His only companion was a  _ kid.  _

"Oh! I'm Itama." The kid-spirit says. "I think I'm going to stay here, okay? Because you look so upset."

_ Nice to meet you _ , Izuna means to say, but he doesn't. He puts his face in his hands, tugging at the fabric across his eyes, and sniffles. 

**_____ **

"We're in the sitting room of, um, I think the Main House. It's the biggest room." Itama tells him, holding his hand, leading him like a shepherd with his flock. Except his flock consisted of one blind idiot. "I've walked around a lot, so I know things. I used to see you too, sometimes." 

"You did?" 

" _ Mhmm _ ." Itama says brightly. "You were always nice to see. You smiled a lot. But you yelled a lot too." 

"My brother was an idiot. Yelling was a coping method."

"Oh." Itama hums again, a song that Izuna doesn't know. His small fingers curl tighter around Izuna's big ones, and it makes him feel sick. The boy's hands were small, with long fingers but pudgy with baby fat. Like he wasn't finished growing yet. "Yeah, my big brother was an idiot too. And my other brother yelled at him a lot too. I miss them." 

Izuna doesn't know what to say, "I miss my idiot brother too."

Itama sits down, a light thumping noise. Thumping and something heavy. Like metal on metal. Clanging? Izuna throws himself down too, feeling like he was  _ sitting _ , but not exactly feeling the floor. It wasn't the same thing. It didn't feel like sitting. It didn't feel like anything. 

"The guy with the fluffy cat hair-- like a lion. That's your brother right? Mr. Lion Hair?" 

Izuna  _ snorts _ . 

"Yes." He laughed. "Yes, that's my brother. With his glorious mane."

"He looks sad a lot." 

"Oh." Izuna nods his head wisely, like he saw Madara do all the time. "Well, he should be sad all the time. He lost me, didn't he?"

Itama claps his hands lightly, just for the noise. "I don't know. I don't want my brothers to be sad over me  _ all the time _ ." He pauses. "Well, maybe most of the time. I was the  _ best brother _ ." He told him seriously. He quiets for a moment, and Izuna hears shuffling and the clanging again. What the hell was that?

"Sure you were, kid."

Itama hummed again. He wasn't the most chatty spirit, usually leaning more towards being timid than anything else. So Izuna had to do most of the talking or start the conversations if he wanted any sort of stimulation. And he really really did want to talk because he couldn't think of Madara if he was talking to the kid. Because he wanted to  _ scream _ every single time he thought of his brother, of the peace between the clans, of his betrayal to his final wishes--

"What's your favorite food, kid?" 

"I don't know." Itama replies softly. "Maybe miso soup? My brother used to make that for me when I didn't feel well. What about you?"

"Sweets." Izuna said immediately, then scratched uncomfortably at the cloth that covered his empty eye sockets. No matter how many times he takes it off, it always somehow returns back to his face. Again and again. "Especially candies. And some sweet teas. It drove Aniki  _ crazy _ . He said I'd get chubby and lazy and die of sugar overdose. Serves him right." 

"Right! You died of having your eyes gouged out, didn't you?" 

" _ What?  _ No, I was stabbed. By a real bastard too. I gave my brother my eyes when I realized I was dying."

"Oh." The boy ghost says. "That's sad. I'm sorry you got stabbed. Whoever he was, he was really a bastard."

"It was war, though." Izuna sighs softly. And it was war. If Tobirama hadn't struck him down, he would have done the same to him. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right, but it was war and it happened. It  _ happened _ . "So I guess it was a fair death, but he's still a bastard."

" _ Mhmm _ . Still a bastard." The kid repeats wholeheartedly. 

**_____ **

He hears Itama before he sees him. 

"I'm going away soon. So you'll be by yourself for a little while. But I'll be back." Itama tells him, slipping small fingers into his own bigger ones. He squeezes tightly, and Izuna offers a smile. 

"Going away?" He repeats. "How are you going away? I've tried dozens of times to leave, and I can only make it to the training fields." 

Itama sighs loudly, childishly exaggerated. Izuna repeated the noise, kicking his legs out and throwing himself backwards. 

"Well I can't leave- _ leave _ . I gotta go where  _ they  _ go."

"I've never been a good guesser. Explain it tk me." 

Another  _ loud  _ sigh. 

"There was this lady. Ghost-chan. And she was here for a while, but she had to leave too. But she said that sometimes when people die, they get stuck on things. Like when flies can't get out of honey." Itama explains slowly and seriously, like he was explaining it to a kid. Like he was the adult and Izuna was the child. "She was stuck onto her mother's hair pins, she said. And then the girl with the pins left so she left too. With them."

"So what are  _ you  _ attached to?"

He can  _ hear _ Itama's breath hitch, a soft gasp of air that they don't need. Neither of them really need to breathe, but it was habit by now. Emotions, however, can cause all sorts of reactions. And Itama was a really emotional kid, from what Izuna understood. 

"I…" Itama's breathing gets faster and faster. "I don't want to talk about it!"

"Okay, okay, kiddo. It's fine-"

His voice was borderline hysterical, loud and tearful, "Don't make me talk about it!"

"Okay!" Izuna dove forward blindly, grabbing onto the area where he swore his voice was coming from. He grasps onto cold, wet, soft cheeks. Squishy and round, like a baby's would be, and too soft to be close to a teenager. All pudge and baby fat. By Holy Indra, oh Kami, this really was just a kid. A little kid that didn't even have time to grow onto his face or lose his chubby cheeks, an oversized toddler. " I don't need to know! I really don't!"

Those were  _ definately  _ tears going down his fingers. Warm and light and wet. Shit.  _ Shit. _ How did Madara make him stop crying when he was little? The boy sniffles loudly, hiccuping on his sobs, and Izuna tries patting his face comfortingly. Okay, be like Madara. How did Madara make this  _ stop? _

"If you stop crying, I'll buy you dango!"

Itama's sobs turned into soft sniffles. Izuna can feel the way his body jerks with the cries, the way he tries to regain his breathing, and the tremor in his limbs. But he keeps his hands on Itama, clutching his face like a precious scroll that needed held and guarded. 

"H-How are you going to buy me dango?" Itama sniffles loudly. "If we're  _ dead _ ?" 

Izuna pouts, "I'll figure it out. Maybe we'll find a dead dango maker to help us out." He offers, and smiles when he feels the boy start to laugh softly. 

"Maybe." Itama lifts a hand to wipe at his own face, rubbing at his eyes. "B-But mostly I think you're an idiot. Like my big brother." 

"Yeah." Izuna agrees softly. "Maybe I am." 

Itama hiccups, "I- I hope I come back. I want to come back. Nobody else can see me." He pulled away from Izuna, probably cleaning himself up. Not like Izuna can see it, right?

"I hope you come back too." 

**_____ **

It drives him mad. To be alone, left in the dark, without a way to talk to anyone or move on from this world. It must have been a battle, or an envoy that left because Izuna can't find any familiar voices. Not of the men he remembered, not of Madara or Hikaku, not of any of his friends. Most of the shinobi must have left. 

(Maybe to peace talks. Maybe to the Senju.)

Izuna wants to spit in Madara's face, to scream and rage over what  _ had  _ been lost, about his lost life and easy forgiveness. He wants to shout at his stupid brother about how even now, in death, crying tears of blood, Izuna still loves him greatly. That he doesn't regret giving Madara his eyes, but that he didn't mean for him to use them for peace with the Senju. He wanted  _ revenge _ . He ached to avenge fallen cousins, friends, brothers, and his father. 

And now he couldn't and Madara wouldn't.

He was alone in the dark. 

Hoping that a dead child would come home. (And wondering why his big brother didn't love him enough to avenge him.)

**_____ **

  
  


And he does come back. Izuna isn't exactly sure how long it's been since Itama has been gone, but it feels like an entire eternity. He hasn't been able to find anywhere to go that he recognizes. He can't find his brother, can't find any clan meetings or any of the familiar voices of his favorite clansmen. He misses them. He misses Madara. He misses his life. 

But at least Itama comes back. His voice drifting inside long before Izuna ever  _ thinks  _ he feels his presence. The Uchiha welcomes the boy back by sitting by his side, listening to his stories. 

"There was a fight with the Hyūga." He explains quietly. He pokes Izuna's cloth-covered face, drawing a circle in the fabric. "They had pale eyes. I've never seen so many of them before. It was an ambush." 

"Is everyone alright?"

"I didn't see anyone die. Your brother was there. Mr. Fluffy Hair." 

Izuna snorts, "I thought he was Mr. Lion Hair?"

"It was too fluffy to be a lion that day. Lions are fierce. He wasn't fierce with hair like  _ that _ ." Itama replies softly, and his hands move away from the young man's face. Izuna doesn't mind him touching anymore, it wasn't like there was anything else to hold onto. At least they could feel each other in this never ending cycle of  _ nothingness _ . "It looked more like a fluffy porcupine. A real mess on his head. He beat them, though. He beat the Hyūga, with his eyes. That had swirls in them." 

Izuna  _ beamed  _ with absolute pride. As angry and hurt as he was at Madara, those were  _ his  _ eyes that his brother used to protect their clan. Their family. They were his, which meant Izuna had done something useful with himself and his vision. At least he had managed to do something long lasting, to leave some kind of legacy. 

"Is that all that happened? I wish I could feel the sun on my skin, so I would know when days passed. It felt like you were gone longer." 

"Mr. Fluffy met with…" Itama's voice breaks. "There was a meeting. I didn't get to see very much or get close. But…" He trails off, lost on his own train of thought. "Izuna, I have a question, if that's alright." 

Izuna pats his head fondly, missing it the first two times, but managing to get it the third time. "What's wrong?"

"If…" 

"If what?" 

Itama's voice is quiet and nervous, "If I have to go away again, and I don't come back, you'll remember me, right?" He's unusually somber, almost timid.  _ Scared _ ? 

"I'll remember you, Itama. Don't worry. It would be hard to forget someone like you." 

He was fond of the kid, well enough. He was a bright, cheerful boy. Not as devious as Izuna had been or as passive aggressive as a young Madara, but he reminded him of his dead brothers. Of his little cousins and his friend Toujo's kids, and he really was Izuna's only companion anymore. They needed each other, somehow, because to be alone was worse than being dead. 

"I saw...my brothers there. For a moment. I know it was them! Longer hair, and less stupid, but it was them. But I don't think my big brothers still remember me." Itama whispers, his voice wet with fresh tears. Izuna felt around for his head again, stroking his soft hair, always amazed by the way one side was angled differently than the other, like a half-finished haircut.

"Why would you think that?" 

Itama cries out, "If they still remembered me, they wouldn't be shaking hands with--" His voice cuts off for a moment, and Izuna feels him tilt his head. Hears the rustle of his sleeve against his face. "He wouldn't be smiling at the Uchiha like they were friends like he was. Either of them. They forgot about me." 

It takes Izuna a long moment to understand what had just been said to him. Far longer than it should've, and he sits in absolute silence.  _ At the Uchiha like they were friends…  _ No, no it had never occured to Izuna that his kid-ghost could be from outside the clan. Why would an outsider be in the Uchiha compound?  _ No!  _

"Itama." Izuna says slowly, letting the name fall chalky off his tongue. It was a foreign name, one that he had never heard before in the clan, but he had always assumed that was because the boy had died before Izuna could remember. "Itama, what clan are you from?"

Itama shakes his head, but Izuna presses against his head to keep it still. 

"But we aren't supposed to share our surnames."

"We're already dead. It doesn't matter now. We already died our shinobi deaths."

"Oh. Alright, then." Itama murmurs, sounding unsure. "Do you promise to be my friend even if you don't like who I am?"

"Just tell me, kiddo." 

Itama clicks his tongue, "You  _ have  _ to promise first, Izuna!"

"I promise." Izuna grits out, just as unsure as his ghost friend sounds. Who was he? He couldn't tell just from touching his hair and face. He had absolutely no clue. "Not like I have many choices for friends." 

"Right." Itama whispers, and his cheeks are hot. Warm. Was he still crying? Was he going to cry? "Senju. My name's Senju Itama. And you're an Uchiha, but…" 

And then his world kind of sinks in around him. Of course, of  _ course _ , his only companion in the entire world was a Senju. Of  _ course _ . Because it didn't make any sense, that a Senju ghost was his only friend, the only one he could talk to. After everything the Senju had done, after they had taken the lives of his friends and family, torn apart his home and his sense of clan. Stolen  _ everything. _

(Tobirama may have stolen his life, but Hashirama had stolen his brother.)

Hadn't that damned clan taken enough from him? He was stuck with one for eternity too?

Izuna heard sniffling. Felt WARM-WET down fingers. Tears, fresh tears.  _ Again _ . 

"You're angry with me." Itama cries, wiping his face and pushing Izuna's hands away. "You promised not to be. You promised--"

"I promised to be your friend. And I am. I'm not angry." 

_ I'm tired. I'm exhausted. I want to die and be put to rest. I want to talk to my brother. I want-- _

"But your eyes are bleeding again!"

Izuna pauses, tenderly touching his own face gently, and there it was. The familiar sticky, warm feeling of blood. How hadn't he noticed it…? He feels small hands touching his face, wiping away at the blood. 

"You're bleeding down here too." 

Hands against his side. Where Tobirama struck him down, where he'd gotten a lucky blow. No, not luck. Skilled. A skilled blow. Because Tobirama was intelligiant and patient, because he waited for a chance and developed his own technique, and used the oppurtunity. Turned his own arrogance into his downfall. 

"I didn't realize it was bleeding." Izuna says quietly to the little Senju boy that stood beside him, his own tears forgotten. "It doesn't matter. I'm not going to bleed to death." 

Itama prods further, "It's alright." He says softly. "Mine does that too." And then he grasps Izuna's hands, bringing them close to his body. His fingers brush against cool metal, familiar somehow. He pushed his palm against the ridges, the way it felt heavy but thin. It was armor. Children's armor. Like a full set, maybe? Izuna hadn't been allowed to have a full set, only the chestplate. 

(Allowed wasn't the right word. They couldn't afford it. It was easier to share a general chest plate amongst the children than to get an ill-fitting full set that could potentially be stolen.)

"Right here." Itama settles his hand on top of-- Izuna blanches, feeling sick to his stomach. His belly twists and turns, as if there were a million kunai being dug into his abdomen and twisted round and round. His fingers prod at a wound, just tracing it. Half-scabbed, with fresh blood coming from  _ somewhere _ , and deep. Izuna went around, oh Kami, it was in his chest, just below his throat. No, no, no. A large, gaping wound, like from a blade. 

He snatched his hand away. "Who  _ did that _ to you? How old are you--  _ were  _ you? Eight? Nine?"

"Seven." Itama answers steadily. "My big brother was seven when he died, too. I had my birthday right after he...right before  _ I _ \--" He chokes himself off. "I miss him a lot. Maybe more than my other big brothers, the ones who lived. I guess he got to...to go to the Pure Lands. He didn't get stuck in honey."

"Who did  _ this _ ?"

Itama doesn't say anything, but the silence is telling enough. Of course, Izuna  _ knows  _ who did this. Who else would it have been? Between the clans, there were some that considered killing children to be especially disgusting and appaulling, even in times of war. But that had never occured between the Uchiha and Senju, their mutual hatred of each other blurring the lines between what could and couldn't be done. Children were still shinobi, just more compact with knobbier knees and small hands, just as capable of killing so if it came down to it, one would expect to kill them. 

Izuna had killed children, but did they count if he was a child when he did it? His peers had praised him as a prodigy, but now it made him feel sick. He was a child and that poor boy was one too. He'd murdered a  _ child.  _

Izuna stumbles away from the boy, wiping the blood off his hands, furious and nauseous. Could a spirit get ill? Or was it his emotions causing the need to vomit? 

"Izuna--"

"I'm sorry." He apologizes through clenched teeth, willing his stomach to settle. It twisted further, guilt eating away at his insides. His  _ clan _ had murdered this bright, kind boy. A child that still cried when things went wrong, not emotionally sound enough yet to be a shinobi. It wasn't  _ right.  _ A child with a blade through his chest, almost through his throat, just a little boy. Just like his brothers, Reisen and Kurohi and Akaishi, three boys he could scarcely remember, kids he should've grown up with. It wasn't  _ fair.  _

Where was the justice? Where was the vengeance? Who should Izuna have killed in revenge? Did he even know their killers? And who should Madara kill for Izuna? Tobirama for striking him down or Hashirama so that Tobirama knows the same loss of a brother? Or would avenge Itama? Who would they know to kill? Everything became blurred and dangerous with so much hatred, so much vengeance and death. Did anyone know who to blame for their misfortune?

"Your brothers…" Izuna says raggedly, fighting the words out of his chest. "Your brothers didn't forget you by shaking hands with an Uchiha." Because it hits him,  _ suddenly _ , like ice water through his veins, like a blow to his stomach, a knife to his throat. "You're here with me, aren't you? We're friends?"

"It's different." Itama explains patiently. "We've already lost. But our brothers haven't! My brothers-- well maybe Anija would have done this, but there's no way Nii-san would accept this! He hates the Uchiha. He would avenge me. He wouldn't…"

"We're not alive anymore, Itama. Maybe...maybe we don't get opinions about the living anymore. Maybe they stop being our brothers when we die. Maybe they  _ can't  _ be our brothers if they have to move on and live their lives. Maybe they have each other and we have each other."

Itama tugs at his haid childishly, "But then-- if we only have each other, if we're the only two ghosts  _ here _ , what does that make us. Are we brothers?"

_ No. _ His mind screams at him, furious.  _ He's a Senju, he's the enemy, think of Reisen, of Kurohi, of everyone you've lost. Your cousin, Natori, your friend Madoka, even yourself. No.  _ But he doesn't accept that. He won't take this away from the kid. The kid's suffered enough to be denied over old wounds and a seperate hatred. A jaded heart.

"Yes." Izuna  _ swears _ , feeling around until he finds the top of the boy's head. He ruffles his hair fondly, like Madara so often did when he had a headache and couldn't press their foreheads together. "Yes, I'm your ghost brother. And if we're here for eternity, we'll be here together. And if eternity falls apart, I'll still be here." 

Itama tucks himself into the man's arms, surprising him with a jump. The armor jabs him in the ribs, and he tumbles backwards. But it's alright. It'll be right.

"Maybe." Itama says into Izuna's funeral kimono. "Maybe we'll get to see the bastard who killed you, and we can haunt him."

"That'd be  _ wonderful _ ." 

It isn't exactly what Izuna wants, this whole situation doesn't make him feel at peace, but it'll have to be enough. It'll have to be enough for right now. 

* * *


	2. you see those stars, yeah that's ours

* * *

"Tell me what's happening." 

"I think they're leaving." Itama's voice wavers. "Everyone's packing everything up." 

"No, no, I can hear  _ that _ . But what exactly are they packing up?" 

Itama huffs, "Everything." 

"Everything-everything?"

"Shirts and sandals and weapons and tea pots and babies.  _ Everything _ ." Itama smacked his arm playfully. Izuna would've hit him in return, but the boy's not as dull as Izuna had been at that age. He takes a step back and lets Izuna flounder around trying to find him. Izuna frowns, tilting his head to hear his surroundings better. There were familiar noises, shouting from Old Lady Himari, thumps and clanks as things were packed away into trunks. He  _ swears  _ he can feel a brief flare of chakra as things are sealed inside scrolls, but he isn't a sensor. Besides, trying to sense chakra makes Izuna feel muddled and ill, so he doesn't try often. 

"This happens a lot." Itama chirps helpfully. "Whenever you move compounds! I remember all the times everyone used to pack up--" He pauses, and Izuna feels small fingers tuck into his own. "Well, I've been around for a while. But nobody  _ ever  _ takes this much stuff." 

Izuna doesn't  _ exactly  _ know what to make of that either. He knows about the peace between the Senju and Uchiha clan, most from Madara's prayers and Itama's observations from the field, but he doesn't know the extent of exactly  _ what  _ was happening. 

"Maybe there's a brand new compound." Izuna offers in reply, but he doesn't even sound convinced about it. What could it be? He had been young, about Itama's age when Madara used to go meet with Senju Hashirama by that damned river, but what did they talk about? He strained his memory for what he managed to eavesdrop that sunny day he followed after his brother, because Madara never spoke of their conversations after that. Especially not to Izuna. 

"Or maybe a village." Itama says brightly, and Izuna imagines that the boy's  _ smiling.  _ Or as much as he can imagine without knowing what the child looked like. His hair was oddly cut, one side smoother than the other, but Izuna had no idea what color is or what color his skin favored. Was he pale like the lower ranked Senju or did he favor the darker colors of the Main family? "Anija used to always talk about building a big village where everyone could be happy and safe-- he would tell it to us like a story." 

"Sounds like a happy story."

Itama wiggles his fingers in Izuna's palm. "It had to be a story. If Father ever heard about-- well, Father didn't let my brother tell us about his thoughts or dreams very often. He didn't like it, and he would do anything to make him be quiet." Itama very dramatically put a fist against Izuna's jaw, not enough to hurt or not a real strike, but pressed it there deeply. "Anything." 

Izuna swallowed hard, "Your father hit your brother?"

"Sometimes. Not very often. Nii-san usually defused the situation, but Father lost his temper a lot."

"Did he ever hit you?"And if Izuna had any blood left to bleed, any rage left to spit out, he'd find the man and challenge him to a fight. He'd burn the entire room apart, but that won't help anything. He keeps his voice calm, steady, like Madara did when faced with a situation he didn't want to be in. 

"No, no, not that I remember. Nii-san never let him after he did it once when I was little. He's hit Nii-san before too, but not me or Kawara-nii. He wouldn't let him strike us." Itama explained patiently, as if the whole conversation was about the moving and not at all about what a piece of shit his father was. Or is?

Izuna feels around until he can ruffle the kid's hair, "I can see why you love your brothers so much." He says carefully. "They took very good care of you. Looked after you." 

"You look after me, too." Itama laughs softly. "Well not  _ look  _ after me, but you're here!"

"A low blow." Izuna flicks his forehead, or at least close enough to his forehead for it to count. "A real low blow, Ita-chan." He cooed, and he can  _ feel  _ the boy's glare even if he can't see it. "Now tell me, you suppose your father's alive?"

"He was when I died. So maybe." 

"Well if he is, we'll add him to our list of people to haunt." 

It really wasn't much of a list. Only a handful of names. And they really can't do much hauntings in their current state. 

If Izuna had a choice about it, he'd become a onryō, a vengeful spirit, at least for a night in order to get revenge for the poor kid. Tajima might not have been the most emotionally dependant or nurturing father in the world (how could he afford to be), but he had never struck his children outside of sparring. Izuna would be like the spirits in the ghost stories Madara would tell him when they were little, with the dark-haired spirits without eyes that searched for helpless victims, the warriors that danced around the room with ghastly blades fresh with blood of the  _ formerly _ living. Those hadn't been his favorite stories growing up, because they would frighten him beyond belief, but Madara had always let him put their futons together afterwards. 

But Izuna wouldn't mind becoming what he was once so afraid of. As terrifying as the stories had been, as much emphasis as Madara put on the gory deaths and horrific fear, the spirits in the stories weren't entirely in the wrong. Revenge only happened on those that deserved it, didn't it? The eye-stealer slaughtered only her cheating husband and his new wives, the ones that conspired to kill her so horrifically. The dead warriors forced their living enemies to surrender and kill themselves, saving their village from a mass invasion. It was a justifiable revenge, wasn't it? 

And Izuna  _ deserved  _ justifiable revenge. For Itama, for himself, he would torment anyone that deserved it. Haunt Itama's father, that Taketori man that got away with raping his second cousin Uchiha Harumi a few years back, anyone that opposed Madara, and…

Well, as angry as he was over his death, it wouldn't be in good taste to haunt to really haunt Tobirama, would it? Sure, it would fill Izuna up with glee to see the man squirm, but it was a fair death. (He understood that, he  _ knew  _ that, but why couldn't he just let go of some of this anger? It burned and burned and it made so...so  _ furious.  _ He knew  _ why  _ he died, but why couldn't he get over it?)

"You hear that?" Itama questions, and Izuna tilts his head. Strains his hearing. It gets overwhelming, sometimes, to depend solely on sound and smell, but he could focus when he tried hard enough. The sound of children running around, giggling and shouting. Sheets being beaten, men talking  _ loudly _ and the smell of sake, women gossiping and other noises. Like crates or chests being opened and closed. Clinking. Thumping. Itama had said earlier they were in the main courtyard, the one that was in the center of the entire compound, and all the noises made sense to him. 

"Hear what exactly?" 

"The voice." Itama tells him lowly, like his voice might somehow interrupt it. What voice? Izuna tries to focus on everyone that's talking, trying to single out whatever caught the boy's attention. "It sounds like...oh, nevermind. It's gone now." 

"Sounded like what?"

Itama hums softly, "Like… nevermind. It's gone anyway."

Izuna accepts his answer and moves on, but keeps an ear out for anything strange.

**_____ **

It's late at night. Or that's what Itama tells him, but he doesn't know for sure. It feels cool, a nice damp night under the stars that Izuna  _ can't  _ see. 

"Tell me about them. The stars. What do stars look like?"

Itama sounds surprised, "But you know what they look like." He leans his head against Izuna's shoulder, his fickle hair tickling at his cheeks, but the Uchiha doesn't make him move. It still surprises him, how easily they've fallen into a pattern, a routine. Before, if someone had told Izuna his most favorite person in the world would be a Senju, he would have very thoughtfully set their home and belongings on fire and left Hikaku to deal with the ashes. But old wounds healed over when there was nothing left to take, what could hatred do to the dead? A dead man couldn't kill another dead man, could he? There was nothing left, no more lines to cross. No more hatred to give. They were just two victims of an endless war, just two people with lives cut unfairly short. 

"I've forgotten. You'll have to tell me. You do have the best vision out of both of us."

"I have the only vision." Itama retorts, but there's nothing cruel or biting about the comment. His head shifts on Izuna's shoulder, as if he were looking up. "They're bright, like a bunch of kunai when the sun hits them  _ just  _ right and it looks pretty for a moment. Bright and glittering, and they don't look yellow or gold. They're white.  _ Silver.  _ Glittering silver." 

_ Glittering silver. That's nice.  _ Izuna never thought he would miss the sight of stars, something he'd looked at thousands of times, each night from his bedroom window before he slept or his only companions during his watch on long missions. He missed the sight of them, constant and unyielding, a friend for lonely nights. But these days he missed many  _ many things _ . 

"There's a big one, isn't there? Bright blue. But it has some green to it, too."

"Yes!" Itama exclaimed. "How did you know?" He waved a hand across Izuna's face, mockingly checking him for sight. Izuna smiled softly at the air of his hand, wishing he had eyes left to roll just one more time. 

"There's a story to it, you know." 

"Tell me!" Itama nods eagerly, his hair scratching against the man's skin. Izuna tugs him away, ruffling his hair, and trying to remember all the details of the story. It had been one that Madara told him, right after the death of Reisen, when he found Izuna crying out in the small herbal garden their mother once tended. He'd put him into his arms, pointed at the brightest star in the sky, and made up the story as he went. The details changed a little each time Madara told him, but the theme remained the same.

Izuna begins, lost in his own thoughts. "There was a princess that lived thousands of years ago, when the world was new and the skies were dark. Midori-Hime was her name, and she was very beautiful, and had many suitors. Each day, she would meet a new man that wanted her hand in marriage, though she never found any she liked so…"

_ "...her father, the king, grew desperate. The years passed and still, Midori-Hime hadn't found a wealthy husband, so her father decided to open the opportunity to the low born men too. Izuna, pay attention, this is the good part! So there was a handsome blacksmith, and he came one day to meet the princess. It was love at first sight, but to be sure of his worthiness since he was low born, the king had to test him. So he lets Midori-Hime issue the challenge…" _

"The night's sky was so empty except for the moon, and Midori-Hime couldn't bear the idea of it being alone. So she challenges him to put something beautiful up in the sky to last forever. And he tries and tries, but nothing he builds will stay up. Disappointed, Midori-Hime rejects her love and searches for someone else. The blacksmith kills himself that night. Pitied by the Gods, they placed his soul in the sky so everyone could see what he was willing to do to fulfill Midori-Hime's request."

_ "No, Izuna, let me finish the story. It isn't over yet-- alright, alright, I know. It's a long story. Alright so, Midori-Hime sees the star and realizes he fulfilled her wish anyway. Out of grief for her lost love, she chooses to join him there in the sky so she flings herself out of the tower of her family's compound. The Gods too placed her in the sky, a testament to her feelings, and that's why it shines so brightly. Izuna, are you asleep? Come on wake up! It was a good story--" _

Izuna blinks himself out of the story, his brother's voice echoing in his mind. His throat closes up, tight and constricting like he was being strangled, and he feels warm pooling at his face. He uses his free hand to wipe away the blood that would trickle down his cheeks, willing back any unsavory emotions. Shinobi didn't show unnecessary emotions, especially not sentimentality or grief, those were to be discarded. 

And he'd done that, hadn't he? Disregarded his feelings for his three older brothers, his father when he too had his life taken, for everyone of his peers and friends that never returned home. Not well enough, but he'd  _ tried _ . He'd tried so hard to leave the messier emotions, sadness, grief, nostalgia and shove them away inside his chest for later. But later never came, and here he is. A mess over a story that his big brother told him years and years ago. 

"Did Mr. Lion Hair tell you that? Or was it one of your other brothers?"

Izuna manages a weary smile, "Mr. Lion Hair."

"Oh." Itama snuggles closer to him, disregarding any semblance of personal space, tucking himself into Izuna's neck carefully. "Hello, Midori-Hime." He whispers, and Izuna barely catches the murmur. 

It has to be worth something, doesn't it? This moment, this  _ second  _ with this boy, because everything feels alright. Everything feels as it should be, correct and proper, and it makes him wonder what his life would be like if he'd lived. Izuna wouldn't have known Itama, wouldn't have missed his wit or his hugs, the warmth of having someone  _ look up to him _ after so many years of being hidden away in the shadow of his brother. His brother had never made him feel lesser, but Izuna's own insecurities made sure he never forgot that he was. 

Izuna settles his head over the boy's and sighs into the darkness. Perhaps this afterlife is a purgatory, a punishment, unable to move on or to see, but it was a reward too. Or perhaps it could be. As much as he missed his time with Madara, he valued his time with Itama just as much.

A balance of sadness and cheer. 

Just Izuna's luck. 

**_____ **

Itama's quiet for the first time in the many, many seconds they've known each other. Maybe days, maybe weeks, maybe months. Izuna doesn't know, because time passes very differently when one cannot see when days begin and end. 

"Come now." Izuna says playfully, nudging the boy and tugging at his fancy armor, wiggling his fingers into the cotton underneath. "Is it because you saw a pretty Uchiha girl again? If you describe her, I'll know which one of the devils it is, and you'll be grateful you died before meeting her. None of my cousins are worth the time of day-- well, maybe one or two. Most of them are as mean as a pissed off cat, and just as hissy." 

Itama says nothing, and Izuna smooths his fingers out of the cool metal, right over the Senju sigil carved into the shoulders. 

"Did you hear the voice again?" He asks softly. "Because sometimes I can swear I hear Madara, but I can never make out what he's saying." 

"No." Itama whispers, and leans into Izuna's hands as he runs them up and down his warm cheeks. "No, it's…just everyone's  _ leaving _ !"

"Right. We already figured that out. To a new compound, or village, or something."

Itama huffs, but it comes out more of a cry for help than any disrespect. He lets out a deep breath and sucks in another, as if preparing for fresh tears. 

Izuna's got to stop that before it happens. This kid is  _ not  _ crying again on his watch. He'd more than enough tears for his eternity of death. 

"Come on. Explain it to me, Ita-chan." He tugged at the boy's face fondly, pulling his lips into a smile. The boy fought against his touch, swatting his fingers away. 

The boy huffs again. 

"You remember what I told you that Ghost-chan told me?" He questions hurriedly, as if the thoughts were bursting to get out of him. "About us being like flies in honey? She said she had been a ghost for a very long time,  _ and  _ that all the ghosts she's ever seen are stuck to something." 

"And Ghost-chan was attached to hair pins, I remember." Izuna  _ also  _ remember the boy's intense reaction to whatever it was that he was attached to. Whatever it was, it left a horrifying imprint on the boy's memory, and Izuna didn't want a repeat performance of the boy's trauma. 

"I'm attached to a sword." Itama whispers. His small hands slip into Izuna's much larger one, and the kid squeezes it as hard as he can, like the words were akin to torture. Maybe they were. 

"A sword." Izuna repeats slowly. "Alright." 

"The one that killed me, I think." Itama continues, his hand trembling in the Uchiha's grip. Izuma tightens his hold, squeezing the boy's cheek with his other hand. "Or maybe not. It could have been one of the other men's." 

His entire body feels cold, "Other  _ men _ ? Itama, who killed you?"  _ Don't say it, don't say it. Don't say it. Don't-- _

"A few Uchiha men." He says quietly. "Maybe five? I don't know. I didn't know there were so many left. I was told to just  _ wait  _ for my brother, so I did, I stayed put and waited, but I got surrounded."

"Itama…"

His voice grows higher and higher, "I was so sure my brother would come in time! Anija...he never fails. He's the  _ best _ . He's never…" Itama shakes his head furiously. "He'd never been too late before. He...he was… It isn't right! The one time it counted, he was late. He....Why didn't he save--"

Izuna pulls the kid close, putting his hands against the kids face. "Breathe for me. C'mon take a deep breath. Calm down. It's alright. They can't hurt you anymore." 

And they shouldn't have hurt him in the first place. They should've left him alone, a lone runt, a child without a clansmen left to fight by his side. There wasn't  _ honor  _ in killing a lone boy, a child, let alone five men doing the deed. It wasn't  _ right. _ It wasn't a shinobi's way, was it? They weren't samurai, they didn't hold strong morals or rigorous honor, but a grown man (or several) slaughtering a young boy was an offence in itself. An insult. It wasn't--

He feels the boy shudder out a breath, shaky against his hands, and Izuna steadies them both. He sinks down to his knees, taking the Senju down with him, pressing his forehead against Itama's fondly. 

A press of foreheads, just like Madara did with Izuna, like Tajima did with his sons. Affectionate and safe, a movement of trust, Izuna had been told, though he'd never been fond of it before. 

"I'm…" Itama gasps in another breath. "I'm okay. I'm...I'm fine now." He gasps in and out, loud and steady, big bursts if air he didn't truly need. Slowly, his forehead against Izuna's, he steadied and quieted his breathing, and they sat in a content silence. 

Izuna let out a sigh he didn't know he'd been holding back. 

"We'll add them to the list." 

Itama laughs hoarsely, shaking his head a little. Izuna grins back at him, patting his cheek fondly, letting him go and leaning back onto his palms. 

"It's getting to be a big list. Might have to recruit a few more ghosts." Izuna continues on, holding up both hands and pretending to count out people they'll end up haunting. 

"Women ghosts." Itama says softly. "Because they're better at revenge. My cousin Touka used to cut all the straps on my sandals when I made her mad." He makes a noise, something Izuna can't identify right away. "I know I'll be moving away soon. Because the man that has the sword now always goes with Mr. Porcupine Hair. He wasn't one of the men-- I think he's one of their sons."

"What's he look like? And don't tell me black hair and black eyes, because that's everyone."

Itama laughs, "He has brown hair! Brown hair pulled up in a hair tie. And he wears a lot of purple. He's always with your brother."

Purple clothes and brown hair? Izuna recognizes him right away. 

"Hikaku. He's my first cousin. He's a kind man, better than anyone else, and the patience of a saint. He has to have it-- he put up with me for years." 

"He sounds nice. But...I know I'm going to be leaving soon when Hikaku-san leaves since he carries the sword with him. But what about you?"

"What about me?"

"We don't know what you're attached to."

Izuna  _ pauses _ . He hadn't considered that, had he? Hadn't considered why he was stuck to the compound, just that he was, just that he was dead and caught up in the living world. It never came to him that there was something  _ specific  _ in this house that he was bound to. 

"What did Ghost-chan say? About attaching to things?"

"That you attach to the last thing you see before you die. I saw a sword. She saw the hair pins. Another person she met saw his futon." Itama stops talking for a moment, like he was thinking about something difficult. "What's the last thing you saw before you died?" 

"Nothing." Izuna answers quickly. "I gave my brother my eyes  _ before _ I died, right when I knew my wound was infected and I was soon to die." 

Itama clicks his tongue, "But you can't leave the house?"

"I tried to follow Madara once, but somehow I always find myself back at the compound. So I have to be attached to something in the house."

"Well what was the last thing you saw before you gave your eyes away?"

"Madara." Izuna tries to think back to that time, his mind muddled and memories blurred by the fever he'd had during that time. He remembers insisting Madara take them. He remembers his brother by his side, forcing him to drink something bitter to help with the pain and to put him to sleep so they could take his eyes peacefully. What did he last see before he fell unconcious and never woke? His temples ache with half-formed memories, pounding as he struggles to recall. 

He remembers Madara's tears as he fell asleep. Remembers how shocked he was to see them because Madara never broke apart. Remembers staring up at the ceiling, right before fading out--

"The ceiling." Izuna says urgently. "I remember staring at the ceiling before I died. And my brother."

Itama gasps, horrified. 

"What's wrong?"

"What if you're attached to the house?" Itama whispers. "If you're connected to this compound…"

"When the clan leaves, I'm not leaving with them." Izuna chokes out, feeling sick. 

* * *


	3. everything is fine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll didn't think I would seperate the boys, did you?
> 
> Of course not. This is short but shhh that's okay

* * *

_ He's a mess when he wakes up.  _

_ Heaving for breath, choking on air, clinging and clinging to life, to conciousness. It hurts, everything hurts, aches and stabs and...and… _

_ It's too hot. It's much too hot. He's burning to death, isn't he? Burning and burning and going to die. _

_ He's dying. _

_ And he's too warm. It's pooled around him, warm and wet. Blood? No, not the right texture. Not sticky, not dried, but there. Izuna's fingers twitch against his sides, not strong enough to move them, not strong enough to stop whoever's moving him around like a broken doll. Tugging him like a puppet with only a single string left. Something cold touches his skin, then something soft. He's rolled one way, then another way. Left and right. The room smells of old piss, of familiar leather oil and a soap he can almost name. Izuna feels something against his… _

_ Oh. Oh. Shame burns Izuna up more than the fever, more than the fire in his veins. He pissed himself, wet all over like a little child. And his brother was cleaning him up, changing out his futon, and Izuna chokes back a horrible sob, trembling despite himself. _

_ "I know the water's cold." Madara cooes to him, as if comforting a small child, as if the water was the problem. Like he wasn't cleaning his little brother's urine because Izuna was too weak to move, let alone get to a pot. Or to even realize he had pissed on himself, sometime in his sleep. "I'm almost done. Don't worry, otouto."  _

_ Izuna lets out a strangled noise, and squeezes his eyes shut as tightly as he can, pretending this isn't happening. Why couldn't Tobirama have struck him somewhere vital, something immediate, like his heart or an artery. This was dragging out. This was humiliating. Absolutely humiliating. The infection from the wound has spread throughout his body, and he hasn't the strength to fight it or skill to save himself from it. Nobody has enough skills to fight off infections using only chakra, especially not the healers in the Uchiha clan, and none of the medicines offered by the healers have worked. _

_ Izuna is a shinobi. He's seen this happen enough times to know death is coming.  _

_ And it scares him almost. He's laying back on his back, and tilts his head. Watches his brother take the small rag and soiled linen out of the room. Izuna closes his eyes, ashamed, humiliated. Ready to break down into childish tears. _

_ After a while, he hears shuffling and then footsteps. Who? Izuna can't sense chakra anymore. But then again, he can't do much anymore. Madara slides open the door, carrying a small wooden bucket and a small cup. _

_ "I brought fresh water."  _

_ Oh wonderful, that's just what he needs, Aniki. Izuna manages a weak grin, trying to keep his eyes open, trying to hold back the burning tears in his eyes. He needs to tell him something important, something that needs to be said before he dies soon.  _

_ "Aniki." _

_ Immediately, he feels a hand against his neck, holding him up. The cup presses against his lips, and Izuna doesn't want to disappoint his big brother. He isn't thirsty, and he doesn't want to soil himself again, but he tries. He struggles to sip at it. More of it runs down his chin than into his mouth, but the cold is comforting somehow. Madara wipes his face with his sleeve.  _

_ "The medic should be here again soon to assess your condition." Madara says half-heartedly. "I think you're getting more color in your face." That's a lie. Or maybe he wants to convince himself of it. (If there is color, it's from the fever.) _

_ He chokes out a noise of distress, "I'm going to die…" Izuna admits, trying to make himself sound brave. He sucks in a deep breath. "I think...soon."  _

_ "Izuna--" _

_ He offers a weak smile, "It's going to happen. I'm d-dying. So you need to listen to me, one last time." Izuna raises his hand as much as he can manage, slinging it into his big brother's warm ones. He holds onto him, clinging to his hand.  _

_ "I'm listening." Madara swears, his eyes hard and serious. Always so serious.  _

_ "I'm not going to...be around anymore to look after you." _

_ "Izuna, enough. You'll be fine. The medicine's working, I can tell."  _

_ "Li...Liar. I'm not…" _

_ "Don't strain yourself."  _

_ Madara dips a torn cloth from his shirt in the bucket and wrings it out. He uses it to wipe his face with deliciously lukewarm water that makes him relax. He's careful, going over his dry lips twice and then moving on to the blood staining his chin and by his mouth. _

_ "Don't want you to be alone..." He coughs wetly, feels something hot slide down his face. Madara wipes it away with his sleeve. "Hikaku is...still here."  _

_ "It isn't right." His big brother tells him. His fists clench up, and his expression turns sour. Pinches up. There are tears in his fading, greyed eyes. "It isn't right that you're--" _

_ "I know." Izuna agrees. "But it's going to...so promise me something right now." _

_ "What is it?" Madara's looming figure shakes, his shoulders hunched. It's miserable. And Izuna's doing it to him. _

_ "My eyes…" He says softly. "Take them please."  _

_ "No. Absolutely not, I'm not stealing your eyes." _

_ "It's not stealing if I offer. A gift." _

_ Madara shakes his head, doesn't meet his gaze. "No." _

_ "Please, Aniki. You need them more than…" _

_ "I said no!" Madara exclaims, clamping a hand over his face to muffle a cry, and he shakes his head frantically. His other hand squeezed Izuna's tightly and frantic. "You need them! You're going to need them. You're getting better, I can tell. I can see it--" _

_ "Promise me." _

_ "Izuna, stop." _

_ But he doesn't. When has he ever really listened to and obeyed his big brother? "Protect our clan and look to the future for me, okay, Aniki? It's alright, please take them. I won't...won't need them in death." _

_ "I'll talk to the healer." Madara seems to realize that he won't stop, offering a compromise. It doesn't...doesn't surprise Izuna at all. He's always been better suited to politics, quieter and less offensive than Izuna. Less brash. It makes him smile. "And then we'll see."  _

_ He falls asleep soon after that. Izuna doesn't mean to, doesn't even really feel fatigued at all, only hot and cold and heavy. His limbs are so heavy, as if he's being pulled underwater with his brother's heavy gunbai strapped to him like he did when he was eleven or twelve.  _

_ But he wakes up to voices, frantic voices, maybe angry. Maybe frightened. _

_ "...isn't going to get better--" _

_ "Not another word, he's a fighter. You don't understand…" _

_ "Please, see reason Madara-sama, if you--" _

_ "Not while he still breathes!" _

_ "...won't be for much longer." _

_ He drifts back out again. His body aches, heavy and pained. Back and forth. Alive and half-dead. It feels like a very short time later, he's awake again, something pressed against his face. Madara peers down at him, a weak smile on his face. Fake. It's his fake smile, the same one he offers the elders when he's forced to agree with them.  _

_ "Izuna?" He whispers softly. "Are you awake? Really awake?" _

_ Izuna nods slowly. His lips aren't moving, and he can't make them. Words seem trapped in his throat. He blinks away his blurred vision. _

_ "Tell me again. One more time; do you want me to take your eyes?" _

_ He nods again. That sounds right. Sounds like that's what he wants, doesn't it? Did he say that to Madara? He can't remember. His body hurts, his head aches, his limbs feel too heavy and too cold. Izuna wants to go back to sleep, to try and wake up again without this haziness. He'll feel better later, won't he?  _

_ "Alright. Alright." Madara's muttering to himself. Too quiet for him to hear. Izuna blinks again, trying to make the room stop spinning. Everything was too bright, too loud, never stopping. He needed it to stop. "This is going to help with the pain, otouto. The healer said you were most likely in pain. And it'll put you to sleep. You won't wake up so often. You need to rest." _

_ A cup against his mouth, a hand holding him up. The liquid inside tasted bitter, and he gagged against it. Tried not to vomit it back up, and Madara rubbed his back as soon as it was gone. His brother's face was tight and almost blank. Resigned?  _

_ "I'm going to wait with you." Madara settles his head against his lap instead of the pillows he had been on. He puts his hand back in his and squeezes it tightly, humming something.  _

_ It isn't a song, just soothing noises. Madara doesn't particularly care for music, not like Izuna did. Does?  _

_ His head doesn't hurt as much.  _

_ But his eyes are heavy. So heavy, just like his body. His vision blurs out worse, and it takes more and more effort to keep his eyes open. He needs to sleep, to lay down for a little while. But he's already laying down, isn't he? He needs... _

_ Madara's voice cracks, and his words come out watery. "I love you. I need you to know that."  _

_ The room's spinning worse than before. He looks up at his brother. Looks towards the ceiling. Can't move his head very far. Madara presses a kiss against his forehead. Izuna's eyes flutter open for only a moment before they close again, the room's a blur. He's so tired. He looks up and around and-- _

_ He never opens his eyes again. _

Itama doesn't know how many times Izuna can tell the story before it drives them both  _ mad.  _ Again and again, he repeats the last memory, trying to  _ remember _ , but it isn't working. The last few memories are too hazy from the drugs that Mr. Fluffy Hair gave him. 

"It isn't--" Izuna tugs at his hair, fingers deep in the long black that he's so proud of, yanking and pulling at in his stress. "Maybe it was Madara. It had to have been him. I've got to be attached to him." 

"It can't be." Itama says patiently. Just like Tobirama always told him to be around fools, just like he always was with Anija when he got into one of his  _ moods _ . "Or you'd be with him, but you aren't. And he left a long time ago." 

"It has to be him!" Izuna shouts, and despite himself Itama  _ flinches  _ back. He knew how loud the Uchiha was, even when he was alive, and how loud he was now, but it was always worse when he was so close. So close and so  _ loud  _ and just like Father when he was angry, when he was angry and swung at Itama, but then Tobirama would have to get in the way. He would get hit, and Anija would  _ scream _ , he would threaten and try to hit Father back, and Kawarama would start to sniffle so Father would go after him next and it--

Izuna stiffens.

"I'm sorry." He says slowly. "I forgot. I'm very stressed right now. But I won't lose my temper." 

And Itama  _ knows  _ that. Izuna doesn't say things he doesn't mean, and he's never purposely cruel or unkind. He knows that from the way Izuna smiles when he talks about the stares, and how patiently Izuna explains the strange Uchiha traditions that Itama has seen from his death that he never understood before, and he's always so kind and so patient. And he reminds him of Tobirama-nii, except so much more expressive, because Tobirama never  _ ever  _ grinned and he wasn't one for long stories either, but that was alright because he gave the warmest hugs and the best hair ruffles. Even Kawarama had said so!

"You won't be stuck here." Itama promises, clutching onto Izuna's white sleeves, tugging at them. Izuna offers a weak smile at him, and though he doesn't have any eyes, Itama knows that this smile wouldn't reach them. "I promise you won't. I'll drag you with me by your rat tail if I have to."

Izuma  _ fumes _ , a light pink coloring his deathly white cheeks, "Alright, leave my hair out of this! It's silky and beautiful and you don't  _ know  _ anything about hair."

" _ My hair  _ is silky and beautiful." Itama argues back, even though he doesn't think it really is. One half of it felt beyond brittle, a resounding effort from when he tried to match his hair to his brother Tobirama-nii. 

(" _ Stay away from that kid! Look at him, he's a demon and – and those eyes! Eyes like the enemy. His hair's white like the snow, an omen. A little youkai--" _

So Itama had taken a few of his coin from his missions to buy a mixture from the traveling peddler. He'd tried to change his hair into something paler to look like Tobirama, but he'd run out of the liquid and it had  _ burned _ . His entire face had went splotchy and Anija had to heal it.)

"I'm not going to be attacked by a  _ toddler _ ." Izuna said dismissively, although a smile sat clear on his face. He stumbled forward. "You go on around and figure out how close the clan is to moving, alright? I need time to concentrate." 

Tobirama would have been good friends with Izuna, Itama determines. Because his Nii-san did the exact same thing when he was worried or afraid, he would send Itama and Kawarama away on some  _ very important task  _ that would take hours and hours, and he'd be all alone to be afraid by himself.

Itama stares at him, pinching his lips together. "Alright." He says softly. "I'll go find out." And he goes towards the door, but doesn't exactly  _ leave  _ just yet. He goes very still and quiet, waits until the Uchiha ghost thinks he's gone. 

And then Izuna falls apart. He watches as his new friend throws himself onto the ground. He lays there, shaking and cursing, curled up like he was bowing to the Gods. It feels like an entirely private scene, a moment of utter despair, and there's blood streaking across his cheeks as he cries quietly. 

(Tobirama-nii used to cry quietly too.)

"Fuck." Izuna cries out softly, strangled. "Just  _ fuck. _ Of course, of fucking course this is my luck." And he tears a hand through his long hair, shaking. 

Itama wants to run over, wants to reassure him that he'll stand before whatever Gods were real or entities that controlled Life and Death, and demand Izuna's soul. He'd stare down the Shinigami if he had too, even if he was afraid, because he wants to stay with him. He wants to stay with Izuna, because they need each other, because he's afraid and he's lonely and the Uchiha promised to make sure nothing bad ever happens again.

Itama  _ can't  _ lose him. But he also can't say that. Because there's a line between them, a invisible glass wall of Uchiha pride and Itama's own nervousness.

He can't say it. 

But he'll do it anyway. Anija always used to say actions represented more than words, usually when talking about Tobi-nii. 

So he'll have to figure out how to stay with Izuna. 

**___ ** **____ **

"You'll be fine." 

Izuna tells him suddenly when he's busy using his hands to comb through Itama's knotted hair. He smoothed his fingers down his scalp, and Itama didn't know exactly what to say.

"I'll be fine?"

"If I don't end up coming with you. You'll be fine. You're a tough kid. Don't worry so much."

Itama flushed, trying not to squirm away from his cold hands. "I know that." He insisted, but it didn't come out strong or confident. "But...I just want you to come with, okay?"

"Okay." Izuna echoes, his lips twitching into a frown. His hands smooth over his hair again. 

"I'll miss you, if I leave without you. I'd miss you too much."

"I'm sure you'll find another poor soul stuck on something."

Itama doesn't know why his eyes are suddenly burning with tears, but he fights them back. Nii-san used to tell him to never waste his tears on hopeless things. 

"But they won't be  _ you _ ."

Izuna tugged a little at his hair, "I'll miss you too, brat." He says softly, almost like he was holding back tears too. "But you'll be okay."

"I don't want to be okay without you." And then it hits him hard and sudden, and he swallows hard. "Izuna…" 

"Yeah, kid?"

"Are you going to be alright without  _ me _ ?"

The man doesn't answer. 

**_____ **

For a while, it seems like it might be alright. But nothing is ever alright anymore, or maybe it never was. 

It happens at nightfall. Itama feels the  _ tug _ , and he takes a deep breath, before he feels the rush of wind through his entire body. 

He's at the gate. He's at the main gate, and the man with his sword, with the soft eyes, Hikaku-san, is giving commands to the remaining few shinobi that carry large sealing scrolls. The women and children had been escorted out days ago. 

"I want nothing left that might link us to this place." Hikaku orders, although he isn't mean or demanding about it. More tired than anything. He's drumming his fingers in his thigh in anxiety. "There are still Inuzuka in this territory that could stumble upon this place. We want nothing left behind that they could use to either track us, or learn anything about us." 

"Understood." 

With the Uchiha dismissed to finish going over the clan, he turns towards the gate again, frowning at it. Itama leans closer to hear whatever Hikaku is muttering to the empty compound. 

He almost misses it. 

"Goodbye, Izuna." 

_ Itama  _ flinched _.  _ Reminded suddenly, he turns around, looking for his friend, who had been by his side just a few moments ago. And he runs back, screaming for him. 

His legs burn and his armor's suddenly too heavy, much too heavy, but he can't take it off. He knows where his friend was, in the Main House, by the window. Something pulls him back, almost, like a leash pulled too far, but he fights against whatever force was yanking him away. 

"Izuna!" He cries out, when he's close enough, so close. The blind man's head snaps up, and he stumbles to his feet. His hands dartedout to feel around for Itama. 

"Itama? What's wrong?"

"To your left. Find my hands!"

The Uchiha stumbles forward, still ungraceful and lost. Itama calls out for him, his feet dragging him backwards, but he  _ fights  _ to stay here. Until he has Izuna with him. The Uchiha's hand reaches out close enough that the Senju can grab him, and he  _ yanks  _ hard. 

Izuna stumbles, and Itama wraps his arms around his waist as tight as he could. Tighter, even, then he did when Mother would leave on missions, when Anija had to drag him off of her kicking and screaming. Izuna holds onto him tightly, and Itama lets himself go limp. He gasped out when something, a force, an invisible entity,  _ something  _ slingshotted him forward, back to Hikaku's side by the gate as he prepared to depart. But with arms around Izuna, he came to this time, and Itama buried his face in the older man's white burial kimono. 

"You're coming with me." Itama mumbles into the fabric, just as Hikaku begins to walk off. He feels like one of Cousin Touka's brother's puppets, like something yanks on his strings, because wherever that sword goes, Itama is dragged off too as well, and it never does him any good to try and fight against it. He stumbles forward, past the gate, following after Hikaku like he was being pulled on a leash, and he pulls Izuna forward too. He makes it across the gate, holding onto the Uchiha, but Izuna  _ doesn't.  _

And it feels like his whole world is falling apart. Itama drags his feet firmly into the dirt, into whatever semblance of feeling he has, and he clutches onto Izuna and  _ pulls.  _ It hurts, actually, to try. It feels like he's being split in two, because that stupid sword is yanking him away in one direction, but Izuna's as heavy as a mountain trying to pull him through. 

"Itama." Izuna gasps out, and he's fighting too, pulling himself forward, but he's being dragged backwards, like there's some kind of barrier between them that gets thicker and thicker. Itama can't hold on to his waist, but he grabs his hands and  _ pulls _ again. 

"We can do it!" He cries out, blinking back tears. His feet drag backwards, his chest heavy like a million hands were pressing away from his friend, but he clings to Izuna's fingers until his own hurt.

Izuna gasps for air, stumbling like he's being choked, and he's getting so much harder to hold onto. But he's getting closer. He's halfway through the gate, his one leg is through, his arms are with Itama, they're so  _ close.  _

_ So close. Fight, Itama, you have to stay with him. He's your friend. He's your ghost brother. _

"Almost there."

"Itama, it's not--"

"You're my brother!" Itama cries out. "I can't lose another. Fight it!"

Izuna shoves forward, gaining another few inches. Itama tightens his grip, fights against the combining force of pulling and being pulled, and Izuna's other leg is almost through.

With one last pull--

  
  
  


Itama gasps in a breath, choking on air he didn't need, like a huge weight had been lifted away from him. He turns around, confused, being tugged away, and he sees Hikaku moving through the trees. 

Trees? No, no he had been at the gate. He had been at the gate.  _ Izuna  _ had been at the gate. They'd been so close, so close. Itama looks around, frantic. The Uchiha wasn't with him. No,  _ no _ , this wasn't fair. 

He'd had him. Just a few more inches. 

Just…

Itama buried his face in his hands and  _ sobbed.  _

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did, I'm sorry


End file.
